Kevin Michael Bloor

the mother who I used to know

The mother who I used to know

has melted like November's snow

And now she seems to simply be

somebody else's memory.

 

An echo they had heard at school,

a voice that kept them calm and cool

while they were taken in and taught

and trained to think like others thought.

 

The mother who's no longer there

to answer plea, of son, or prayer

can glow and glide and groan like ghost

on days when she is missed the most.

 

And sometimes spectres waste a word;

for dead to speak; it’s not absurd!

When fate is fair, a son may find:

The cold and cruel can still be kind!

 

Comments2

  • Alan .S. Jeeves

    Wonderfully structured and presented Kevin. Great rhythm and sentiment ~ a credit to you, Bravo.
    Could be my mother, could be everyone's.

    Kind regards, Alan

    • Kevin Michael Bloor

      Thank you kindly, Alan. I appreciate your feedback and kind comments. Thanks for stopping by to read my little poem.😉

    • orchidee

      A fine tribute Kevin.



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